Her voice called from the bedroom, “Sit down and make yourself at home. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Don’t be so damn modest,” I said. “Put on a robe and come out. I want to talk with you.”
She opened the door a crack. “Who’s being modest?” she demanded. “Hang it, I’m trying to make myself presentable. Don’t you know that a woman looks like hell when she wakes up in the morning?”
“How would I know?” I asked.
“Try taking a correspondence course,” she said, and slammed the bedroom door.
I sat down and waited.
It was fifteen minutes before she came out, and then she was wearing slippers and a fluffy negligee, but her hair had been combed, her face made up and there was carefully shaped lipstick on her mouth.
She said, “You certainly do come at the most inopportune times.”
I looked her over and said, “You’re gilding the lily.”
“What do you mean?”